COTCOD VOL 35 - IRON SKIES
by saruviel
Summary: Chronicles of the Children of Destiny Volume Thirty-Five - Iron Skies. NOTE: In progress. Some of the introductory stories have been told, but there is a much larger tale at work in this world of the 1400 worlds. Gradually unfolding over time.


THE 1400 - WORLD 3 - IRON SKIES

The Frivolous Mage of Excragag

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

Copyright 6178 SC

Excragag was a despot of a citadel. Located in the wastelands of Yallantar, it was surrounded by endless leagues of swamps and deserts, with a perilous path into the place, if you could at all afford a guide from one of the cities of the bludgeoners on the southern continent to lead you in. It was frivolous, for they had no virtue, and lived in sin. They liked sin. They liked it a lot. And the Mage of Excragag, a despotic kind of fella himself, hailing from old Sodom on Earth, liked it like that. The Mage generally ran the place, the citadel hosting at any given time three or four thousand of Yallantar's most reputably infamous scum. Hey, they knew their reputation – they didn't care. Life was a shmozzle, living in a shitty planet exiled from Home Stellar One, in one of the few hundred habitable planets of the galaxy. And demonic magic, rife from the the planet known as 'Brag', was everywhere. You didn't get much peace. Poxy wizards liked to rule, and poxes were often the order of the day. The Mage of Excragag was the worst though, ruling the Citadel with the vilest concoctions of venereal disease causing potions Brag had ever known. You didn't last long fucking with 'Shantar', was the saying – literally. Yes, Shantar was the Mage of Excragag, and he regularly posted Bludgeoners, named for what they were really leading their 'Victims' into, to the cities of outer Yallantar to bring in the 'Scum' for the regular partying and supplies he favoured. Wenches were popular. Virgins were scarce. Shantar's daughter claimed to be one. She'd bedded five hundred, but still claimed to be one. Shantar defended this, though. A pox on you if you defile my daughters reputation. Oh, they did the defiling, and young 'Surella' took care of the VD curse enough herself anyway.

Our hero is bumbling young 'Gandar'. Gandar had come to Yallantar to mix with Excragag, cause he was a wily enough fella himself. Carefully treading foot by foot in his bludgeoners way, he came to Excragag, deposited the gold coin donations and various supplies, and summarily was invited to a goat shagging party. He was amused. The goats probably weren't. He shagged one of them anyway. He was lucky. Only minor strains of syphilis were the result.

Gandar, though, was the brave soul to marry 'Surella'. He had a biggun, Surella fondly told her father. Shantar admired her for that. Just like her mother.

The wedding took place, and the official virginity of Surella came and went. And our bumbling hero discovered more down below than just a minor strain of syphilis a few months later.

His vengeance was swift and sure. He dragged Surella to the throne room, took her by the neck and threatened Shantar.

'I'll kill her. You scumbag. She was nary a virgin and she's given me the ruddy pox of testicilitis.'

'Sounds devastating,' said Shantar.

'Aye. It's not pleasant,' replied Gandar.

'Come now. Whats a child of a demon between us, old friend,' said Shantar.

Gandar was eventually sweet talked and put down his sword.

Surella, though, turned on him, grabbed the sword, and placed it to his neck.

'Beg for mercy,' she said.

'I'll bring in the goat again,' he said, submissively.

She smiled. He was forgiven.

Aye, that was life in Excragag. It was dirty, mean and mighty unclean. But a lesson people learned that day was that if you were prepared to shag a goat with your missus, You could get away with practically murder.

Practically.

The End

Grimwarden

Copyright 6177 SC (In the Adjusted HNF Calendar - 2014CE)

Grimwarden lived in the sewers of Excracrag. He was a dirty, nutty, crazy, obscene and fowl mannered cretin. The ideal citizen of the despot in many eyes. He had fowl sexual appetites, and goats were not unknown to be deflowered in his presence, sometimes quite intimately. But his greatest fetish, blood porridge. He took goats blood each morning, boiled it and baked it and set it into a grating machine, then added barley and onions and stock and water, and with some oats, he boiled up his blood porridge. He loved the taste. His wife Broomhilda said it made her vomit, but Grimwarden didn't object to that. Gave him something to chat about upstairs.

Down in the sewers Grimwarden had a job. Watching over Cell X. Cell X contained an even viler cretin, the mage Flagfuk. Flagfuk had a curious addiction to various drugs and intoxicants, but when he mixed magic, it would produce fowl smelling odours which wafted all around Excracrag.

'Get that shit out of here,' were the insults from Shantar, in the court up above.

Flagfuk was commonly asking Grimwarden for various liquors to ease his soul. And one afternoon, bored out of his mind, Grimwarden entered, a bottle of rum at his disposal, and the two nether citizens got duly drunk.

'I've had sex with more goat's than you have had hot dinners,' boasted Grimwarden.

'Well I've had more goat testicle broth than you've shagged your woman,' responded Flagfuk.

'I've shagged her twice a day since our teens,' said Grimwarden.

'Testicle broth. Night and day. All mother would feed us growing up,' said Flagfuk. 'And when we ran out of testicle broth, it was anus stew. And they chose particularly fowl arseholes in the marketplace, I can tell you,' burped Flagfuk.

'I've tortured more rats than you've drunk bottles of rum,' boasted Grimwarden.

'I've eaten more rats in this place than you've drunk any alcohol,' responded Flagfuk.

'Well, I've done one thing you can't match,' boasted Grimwarden. 'I've eaten more blood porridge than you've shat in your life.'

'And I've eaten more shit than you've shat in your life,' responded Flagfuk. 'It's all that those rats do all over this cell.'

'Aye, ye are a cretin righteous and true,' boasted Grimwarden.

'Pass the grog,' said Flagfuk, and they continued on with their steady afternoon of debauchery and valiant crudities.

The End

The Excracrag Agenda

Copyright 6177 SC

Prince Sosteriel, beloved Arch-Regent under service to King Talakwan of 'Baldvenzarla', most definitely the proudest Kingdom of the Holy Continent of 'Armorica', was a sensible Prince, believed to have been born by divine intervention of the creator, for a rainbow marked his birth, as well as that of Prince Gabriel of the neighbouring Dominion of Algaria. They were rivals, yet they had an agreed upon adventure. Dare the wrath of the vile continents of the south, and journey to Excracrag.

The two princes sat in the upper chambers of 'Tower Blessing' in the holy city of Talakeir, and drunk lightly of their ginger ale, watching their ladies sit at crochet, mildly amused by the jester's attempt at humour.

'We are the elect of this world of Iron Skies, Gabriel,' said Sosteriel. 'I feel it in the very fibre of my being. We are the Creator's chosen to redeem these fallen ones. And I wish to make my mark upon them, in some way, to show the goodness of the Creator.

'Tis a brave dare,' said Gabriel, sipping his ginger ale. 'Are you sure, at 21, you are up to the adventure. We live in a sinners world, and Excracrag is perhaps the vilest city of men known. Should we truly seek such a place in missionary zeal? Let them be. Our witness rules this world from our northern continent, and they shun our presence, the fallen children of Adam. We are the seed of righteous Eve, not that of fallen Cain. Leave them be. They want not our mercy, I say.'

'It's in your blood, cousin Gabriel. I sense it. The 70 Kingdoms of Armorica must make known its elect status to all the fallen from time to times, lest they surely perish in the walk of eternity, for our call since the days of Noah is to redeem. Surely the perpetual rainbow entices you to this act of love?'

'Your a braver soul than I,' said Gabriel to his friend.

'You will be braver still before our quest is done,' responded Sosteriel.

And they sat, and discussed the Excracrag agenda, but Gabriel queried wether the King's of their world would ever permit the elect generation to venture forth to the southern worlds below, for it was time of glory in Armorica, so all the prophets maintained, and to venture foolish pride in a redemptive mission of the cursed ones? Could there be any real sense in that?

Gabriel sipped his ale, and winked at his maiden, and they chatted on, and enjoyed each other's presence, and the world turned, and Excracrag was left, ultimately, to the plans of a day still yet to be.

The End

Vanderbilt

Copyright 6177SC

The mad prophet Vanderbilt was lost in the desert of scorpions, on the continent of Yalbar, a median continent of the world, almost at death. He was exile – that was his name – for he had been cast forth from Armorica for his mad prophecies, which he said were true in the name of the Creator, but which the council of King's exiled him in the name of blasphemy upon. For he spoke of a doom coming to Armorica, from a mad southern horde of nations, led be a scrupulous leader, who would come and bring Armorica to fowl judgement of its pride against them. For they had been mocked and derided as the scum of Cain for so long that even the righteous could and would be paid back in full for words of pride spoken against the reprobate.

But they cast him out, called him mad, and he was sailed to Yalbar, and cast into the desert of Scropions, with one flask of water, which had run out.

And now he was near death. A dismal death for a proud and true prophet.

He baked there, in the sun, ready to expire. Thoughts of his 50 years ran through his head, especially his mother whom he had loved, and his beloved Yulenthea, who had needs leave for he was chosen to speak words of truth, and believed himself a prophet. But she still fawned after him, till he was cast out, and now, near death, his last thoughts were on his loved ones.

The carrion circled, and Vanderbilt looked up at the scorching iron skies.

'I am finished,' he said bravely to his God.

An hour passed, and another still, and he lied there, but did not die. And darkness came, and in his final energy he drew to his feet, and walked on another few hundred yards, and then collapsed.

And then he noticed it. His nose was wet. He reached out, and it was indeed water. He tasted it ginerly, and finding it sweet, he drank and drank and drank, and fell asleep. And dreamed.

And in his dream: 'Your work is not finished,' said the veiled figure of his dream. 'For you yourself will be in the company of the dread ones, for I have chosen you, my servant, to judge the elect ones for the sin of pride, and their slaveries will teach them humility, till they repent and acknowledge that even the lowliest of souls have that spark of divine within as well.'

And Vanderbilt awoke, and morning had dawned, and a camel, with a man dressed in black was nearby, gazing at him, and when he approached, the tribesman came down, and lifted up Vanderbilt onto the camel, and took him hence, back to his home, and onwards to his destiny.

The End

Lucifer Galdenflak Darvanius

Lucifer Galdenflak Darvanius was a resident of the Southern Continent of Yeldoron, on a world known as 'Mittlemarch'. Lord Mittlemarch was the seventh son of Adam, and from him the world was reborn after a global flood, in which his son Noah helmed 'The Ark of the Covenant', a mighty ship, with 300 passengers, the redeemed and not so redeemed of a world torn apart by sin and greed and malice. He lived on a coastal village of Yeldoron, and had oft thought of travelling to Excracrag, for he valued magic, and was known to dabble somewhat himself. But he was more than that, in his heart. He was a leader of men. And though he was but the village blacksmith, serving the town of 'Yoldern', under the mayorship of his older brother Damien Galdenfork Darvanius, he still fancied himself a prince of glory. But with a grudge. A grudge against the Armoricans of the Northern Continent, which he hated with a passion. For he read on scrolls and saw pictures of their finery and customs, and he mocked them in his heart, for they thought themselves better than mere southerners in his imagination. True, they were. Southerners were a fowl lot, especially those of Yeldoron, for fowl deeds aplenty lived their lands adventures, and Lucifer himself was known to corrupt a few maidens in his time, but he honestly felt, deep down inside, one thing he accused the Armoricans of not possessing. Humility.

And thus, as he hammerred each day in his forge, and undertook his work of providing for his village, he dreamed of wars and powers and raising a huge army to defeat Armorica from all the continents of Mittlemarch to let them know the sons of Cain were children of the Creator also.

'Ye are mad,' said Damien. 'Tis foolishness. We know our place, here in our village, and we want no squabbles with northern finery.'

'We could rule the world,' insisted Lucifer. 'With a little imagination.'

'Ye possess the imagination of a gnat, young brother. Tis foolishness I tell you.'

But try as Damien might, Lucifer would hear none of it and, after his 31st year, began speaking to men of his village, and formed a small rag tag brigade of die hards, who went off killing wild boar, and fancying themselves mercenaries. But while this continued for a few years, upon his 34th birthday he began thinking real thoughts of his lot in life, and let the idea go somewhat.

And then Vanderbilt showed up, and gave him a magical amulet with the ability to charm men, and Lucifer was instructed on his destiny, and Lucifer grinned madly, for the brother of the Devil was at work once more, and the world would be a different place when the name of Lucifer Darvanius ran along the corridors of power.

The End

Lucy Yael Patterson

Copyright 6177SC

'Lucy Yael Patterson. Come here ye lusty wench.'

'Call me a bloody wench again, and I'll have your scrotum up a pole, Lucifer Darvanius.'

Lucifer grinned. His witch lover from neighbouring Yalestorm, the village a little to the south of his own along the coast was always a delight to his heart.

'Who's he?' asked Lucy about the man dressed in black, sitting on a wooden bench near the forge.

'Vanderbilt,' said Lucifer. 'He gave me this,' said Lucifer, showing off his amulet.

Lucy looked at it and, suddenly, touched Lucifer's chest warmly. 'Can I see it,' she said, and he felt suddenly aroused by her.

'Get off ye foolish woman,' said Lucifer, but softened, and took of the amulet to show his woman.

'It's beautiful,' she said. 'It's made of gold. And these are Topaz gems.'

'Aye. But's its worth more than gold.'

She looked at him. 'What do you mean?'

'Never you mind,' he said, taking back the amulet.

'Patterson is an Armorican name,' said the man in black suddenly.

Lucy looked at him. 'Yes. We hail from the northern continent a number of generations back. We were exiled for witchcraft.'

'I almost know the feeling,' said the man in black.

'Vanderbilt,' is it? Who are you then?'

'A friend,' he said.

She looked at Lucifer, then returned her gaze to the man in black. 'And what kind of friend, exactly?'

'The best of kinds,' said Vanderbilt, and took out some tobacco and filled a pipe coming out of his garments.

'That's a tribesman's pipe,' said Lucy, recognizing the pipe Vanderbilt was smoking. 'Is he a tribesman?'

Lucifer looked at Vanderbilt, puffing away. 'No. No, I don't think so. He's Armorican, or so he says. Says I have a destiny. What my heart has always desired.'

'That's me, isn't it,' she said cutely.

'No. Your sister,'

'Bastard,' she said, swiping at him, which brought nothing but a chuckle from Lucifer and a grin from Vanderbilt.

'He indeed has a destiny,' said Vanderbilt. 'He is a chosen vessel of the creator.'

Lucifer looked at Vanderbilt and then at Lucifer and laughed. 'For cleaning out toilets. About all he is good for,' she said, still laughing.

'I guess you could call Armorica a toilet,' said Vanderbilt wryly.

Lucy looked at the man. She didn't dismiss the comment, but let it be.

'Will ye come back to the tavern with me tonight?' she asked him. 'I'll feed ye the best stew in all of Yeldoron.'

'Made of dog's testicle's,' smirked Lucifer.

'I'll give you dog's testicle's,' said Lucy, and hacked at him, but they fell to with their arms all over each other.

Lucy sat nearby for a while, as Lucifer finished his work for the day, but she kept her eye on Vanderbilt, and thought on what he had said, and all the time she was drawn to the amulet around Lucifer's neck. Something was going on. Something different. Something new. And she wasn't quite sure if it was for the best at all. But nevermind. Time enough for worries about tribesmen and amulets for another day. Tonight, a feast with her man, and some sneaky lovemaking in the barn back of her family's farm, and none the wiser. Oh, she was a sinner, but who wasn't these days and in this world? Who wasn't?

The End

Flagfuk's Return

David Glongflak Patterson looked at the sorry sight before him. His brother, Flagfuk Grimtag Patterson, returned from the dead, literally. Had ventured to Excracrag a decade ago, and they'd not had word since.

'Your smell disgusting,' said David. 'James, get out here. Our brother has returned.

James Patterson and his son Jonathon Patterson ventured out, and there before them a sight quite disgusting. Covered in what must be shit of some kind, Jonathon's uncle Flagfuk.

'Flaggie,' said James. 'Were have you been?'

'In prison. The Mage of Excracrag is known for many things, but hospitality is not one of them. My potions turned his nose, and that's saying something, but my time was served and I was booted off the walls of the place, fell to the ground, and nearly broke my back. Oh, I fell in a bog, in case you were wondering.'

'And now you are home,' said James. 'Well come inside. I will get Lucy to clean you up.'

'And burn those blasted clothes,' said David, as James took Flagfuk inside.

David Patterson was relieved, ultimately, to have his brother home, though the way he smelt, it was not exactly the homecoming he might have liked. But nevermind. After all these years it was good for the family to be together again.

'Uncle Flaggie. Tell me about Excracrag,' said Lucy, wiping off his dirty shit from his skin, while he soaked in the tub which had buckets of heated water poured into it.

'It's a fowl place,' said Flagfuk. 'I ate mostly rats and their dung to survived. The prison had a water pump, and I was left to fend for myself for the most part. They only fed me once a week. A savage man, Grimwarden, guarded me. Not an experience I would care to repeat. But, oh, we had some encounters, and we would drink the bottle when he showed rare mercy.'

'What's Excracrag like? A haven of witchcraft I have been told,' she said wide eyed.'

'Indeed,' said Flagfuk. 'And of the vilest kind. It is sport to be known for one's decadence, as the place always has had such a reputation. Suited me to think it my home once. Once.'

'And now?' she asked.

'It's not in the middle of hell for no reason,' he replied. 'Think twice before making that trip, I tell you.'

'I'm going. In a few months. With my man Lucifer.'

'Then another Patterson will risk their life for fowl grog, fowl food and fowl company. But delightful goats, so I have been told.'

'Your disgusting,' she said.

'Aye,' he replied.

'Clean him up,' yelled David from the other room. 'And get him some of my clothes. We're still about the same size.'

When Flagfuk had been cleaned up, he sat at the family table, and the Patterson's were united once more, save the woman, still at the family tavern, cleaning up as they did once per month.

'Do you want to work in the Tavern?' asked David. 'Or will ye go back to the wizarding trade?'

'I've a spell or two left in me,' said Flagfuk. 'But the Tavern sounds best.

'You can keep the bar twice a week,' said David. 'Same wages as before.'

'Aye,' said Flagfuk.

'And for the sake of things good in this cursed world, get out to that hag of a woman you claim as your wife. She has moaned for you all these long years.'

'Aye,' said Flagfuk again, and then excused himself, off to the spare bed, and a night of rest.

'And what did he say to you?' David asked his daughter.

'Nothing,' she replied cheekily.

'Get foolish thoughts out of your mind, young woman. Get them from you. For I know the trouble you and that Lucifer will cause us all soon enough.'

But Lucy said nothing. For there was nothing to say. Nothing to say at all.

The End

Shelandragh May Mukfold & Jesus Jakfuk Kristofferson

'Shelandragh!' yelled Jesus Jakfuk Kristofferson. 'Were is that blasted woman?'

Shelandragh was inside the cottage, an expensive cottage by the standards of Yeldoron society, on the main northern city of the continent, Yeldarak.

'Sorry, Vanderbilt. She's busy as always, with her bloody spells.'

Presently Shelandragh showed herself, and said to Jesus, 'What do you bloody want?'

'Vanderbilt here has need of the best Bludgeoner in town. Wants to travel to Excracrag.'

'You call yourself a bludgeoner?' queried Shelandragh to her husband. 'You bring shame on the position. Your father was never impressed with your skills.'

'Still, they came to me. So what you going to do, huh?' responded Jesus.

A bludgeoner was known as such, for he was a mercenary for hire, a hunter, a tracker, a warrior, a survivalist and all such things, particularly trained for navigating the inner swampy areas of Yeldoron, infamous for its scummy residents and difficult pathways.

'What do you want me for?' asked Shelandragh to her husband.

'You can come with us. They have female company, and I figured she could use a female face to help her with her lady things.'

'Lady things!' mocked Shelandragh. 'The man has no idea. Well, where is this woman?'

'Lucy and my lord Lucifer are at a tavern in town. We are on a mission to Excracrag to seek out the Mage of Excracrag for our own purposes,' stated Vanderbilt.

'How much are they paying?' Shelandragh asked Jesus.

Vanderbilt opened a gold purse, and brought out some coinage, and handed them to Jesus.

Jesus looked at them, and handed them to Shelandragh. She looked over them.

'They are tribesman coins,' she said. 'The writing on them, I recognize.'

'They are gold nonetheless,' stated Vanderbilt.

'4 pieces?' queried Shelandragh. 'Make it 7.'

'5,' responded Vanderbilt.

'6,' said Shelandragh.

'5 and 2 pieces of silver,' said Vanderbilt.

'Done,' said Shelandragh.

'Hey, woman. I'm in charge here,' said Jesus. He looked at Vanderbilt. 'The charge will be 5 gold pieces and 2 pieces of silver.'

'Humph,' said Shelandragh. 'Men!'

When they had notified the man about the house, Darren Marryweather, who would look over the house in their absence, Jesus and Shelandragh had packed their things, and were accompanying Vanderbilt to the tavern of their hired hosts.

'You need a bludgeoner to get you to Excracrag. It's a pretty shitty place,' said Jesus to Lucifer.

'Yeldoron is a pretty shitty place in general,' responded Lucifer. 'I'm sure we'll be right at home in Excracrag.'

'They are famed for their crudities. They are, true, not the most violent of peoples. You get all sorts of scum in the wastelands, but Excracrag is vaguely a city, with some sort of moral law from reports. But bribery and corruption abound, and fowl wizardry. Are you sure you want to venture to such a place?'

Lucifer touched the amulet around his neck. 'I am sure,' he said.

Jesus looked at the amulet, suddenly entranced by it. 'Yes,' he said, mesmerized. 'You are sure.'

They spent the morning in the tavern, Jesus speaking of the path they would take, and the provisions they best gather, but they would hunt and find water at various localse in inner Yeldoron for survival. The trip would take a few months, for the path was perilous, but they would reach Excracrag, or he was not the greatest bludgeoner in all of Yeldoron. Shelandragh's sighs on those boasts was indeed noted by Lucifer.

They got under way after lunch, and as they got outwards from the city, tracking inland, not taking any horses, for the route forbade such royalties, Lucifer enjoyed that night's camp, looking up to the Iron Skies above, wondering what destiny would soon have in store for one such as himself.

The End

Lessons

'You will notice,' began Jesus, 'If we encounter any locals in this inner swampland the slightly different dialect of our Mittlemarch tongue. They know our continent as Yallantar, and not Yeldoron, and Excracrag is officially 'Excragag' in the way it is named inwardly. Slight deviations, but the inner scum of Yallantar have always been one to do it their own way.'

'Fascinating,' said Lucifer. 'Tell me more.'

'Crudeness is just the beginning of their eccentricities. They worship the moon and the sun, and any speak of religion is death to all such perversions of the enemies of magic. The dark magic rules inwardly, and it is the way it has long been. They have been known for acts of cannibalism, but it is less often these days. But we must keep our wits about us. Thieves roam Yallantar, and the villages are beset with fowl residents, so we must be cautious in any company we keep. The wastelands are virtually impenetrable, the voyage to Excragag being difficult and harsh, but I know the way. Most bludgeoners do. It is part of our trade, the inner world of Yeldoron.'

'Were you raised to be a Bludgeoner?' asked Lucifer.

'Aye,' responded Jesus. 'It has been the family trade for many long centuries, and the Kristofferson family is well known in the business. My wife, who insists on her surname of Mukfold, despite our firm marriage vows, comes from a long line of Bludgeoners themselves. But she dabbles in magic. Fancies herself a witch.'

'Do you have children?' asked Lucifer.

'A child. He lives on the south of the continent. He is young, but chose to live there, chasing a circus of all things. A life of adventure he wanted.'

They chatted on throughout the night, as Jesus recalled tales of his adventure by the light of the fireplace, and Lucifer learned more of the world he called home, for he had not travelled greatly in his 34 years, working mainly as blacksmith of Yoldern to earn his living, and not much more. But he was learning, now, at a rapid pace. And he would need to. For he sensed it in his heart, in the words of Vanderbilt, that he had a special destiny, one which may indeed rule the world one day, and for that he would need his wits about him, especially in dealing with mad mages of Excragag and the like.

'What lies in your heart, Lucifer Darvanius?' asked Jesus, as the night passed, and they settled down.

'My woman, a lot,' said Lucifer. 'Lucy is my love, and I often fear losing her, as if a world of suitors yet beckons for one so precious. But, a dream. A vision. Perhaps one of Vanderbilt's, but perhaps one of my own.'

'And what vision is that?' asked Jesus.

'That remains to be seen,' said Lucifer sombrely.

And with those words said he settled down by the fireplace, the others already snoring, with Jesus taking the first watch for the evening, Vanderbilt to rise later and see the last watch.

He dreamed dreams, and saw faces that night, and his brother spoke to him and said 'Your an idiot,' before the dreamscape changed yet again, and he was happily in the arms of his beloved Lucy Patterson.

The End

Parallel

Yulenthea had finally had her plea listen to, and it was by Prince Sosteriel, of all the counsel of Royalty, who listened to her.

'I am afraid, my lady,' continued Sosteriel. 'That Vanderbilt was exiled for heresy. He spoke words against Armorica, words of Judgement from God which are not true. False words, and he caused havoc amongst the citizenship of Armorica because of this.'

'But he's innocent,' protested Yulenthea. 'He was only speaking the truth of his heart.'

'And that truth confronted many,' said Sosteriel softly, eyes of mercy looking upon the distraught woman.

'He's no heretic,' she said with pride in her voice.

'Tell me, Vanderbilt,' said Jesus, around another night's fireplace, for the Bludgeoner was again on watch. 'What do you make of this thing called life? Is it just? Is it fair what heaven has visited upon us all?'

'That I can't rightly say,' responded Vanderbilt. 'For I was raised a northerner, and our world is vastly different to your own. We have luxury compared to what I have seen in other lands.'

'Then how can God be just? To visit such wealth on one, and disgrace upon another? Are we all not equal children of men?'

'You would hope so,' responded Vanderbilt.

'I am sure he is not intentional heretic,' continued Sosteriel. 'But you must understand that is not how he was perceived. The public were worried. He said things which upset many, and we could not allow the continuation of his ministry. You must understand. It was not acceptable.'

'My beloved is a God-Fearing man, and only spoke that which God commanded upon him,' responded Yulenthea.

'I would expect you to be loyal,' said Sosteriel. 'Tis a value I esteem. Our world lives in parallel, I often think, a righteous half and a wicked half. So much good, so much evil. A balancing line. Yet I fear your beloved as you call him had succumbed to a darker voice.'

'That's not true,' she again protested.

'And he was exiled because of it. Taken to a distant land, a land of Iron skies, were those challenges of life are far greater than ours, for they chose a way of life far different from ours.'

'Yet why do you esteem this God so greatly?' continued Jesus. 'Can you not see his bigotry, his deference to one people and his hatred towards another. Surely he is biased.'

'Perhaps you speak truly,' said Vanderbilt. 'But the word I have from upon high is that judgement is coming upon those fallen asleep on their works of righteousness, and that from the most unlikely of sources.'

'And who are these sources?' asked Jesus.

'Ones closer than you might care to believe,' responded Vanderbilt, whose eyes wandered over to the sleeping Lucifer.

'If God is just,' said Yulenthea. 'My beloved will be vindicated.'

'We can all hope for vindication before the throne of the Creator,' said Prince Sosteriel. 'Yet all of us are beset by hidden prides, even those who think themselves the pinnacles of glory.'

Yulenthea looked up into the eyes of the Arch-Regent. 'I believe that is true with all my heart.'

The sincerity of the woman's words caused Sosteriel to gaze upon her, and look into his heart. Perhaps she indeed spoke some word of truth. Perhaps things, as Vanderbilt had preached, were not perfect in his northern haven. Perhaps.

'Whatever else,' said Jesus. 'I am glad to be alive, and have work and food and good love.'

'Even in a world of Iron Skies, our heavenly father provides,' said Vanderbilt.

'Aye,' said Jesus.

And as Vanderbilt turned in for the night, Jesus sat there, gazing into the fire, thinking of his lot in life and how he should be jealous of those with so much, but thinking, in humility, that he still had a lot to be grateful for regardless. And praise be to the Creator of life because of it.

The End

The Complexidon

Grimwarden stood in front of the large monolith of an object. The Complexidon.

'Will the ruddy thing work?' he asked the scientist, Gladfladulentia Diffruk.

Gladfladulentia gazed at him over his bi-focals. 'Will the ruddy thing work? I should say, my dear man, that the odds of a grunt of your intelligence getting a response from the Complexidon are next to zero. And that on a good day, my man.'

'Bah, humbug,' swore Grimwarden, and suddenly the machine started whirring.

'By my grandmother's pickled bosoms' swore Gladfladulentia. 'What in all of creation could have moved the thing to respond to your charms?'

Grimwarden stared at the machine.

'Show me my dying day,' he said to the machine.

Suddenly a light shone fort from the Complexidon, a ray, lighting on Grimwarden's head, and Grimwarden closed his eyes naturally in response.

Gladfladulentia looked on amused, tilted his glasses for a better look, and watched as eyes flickered behind eyelids, as Grimwarden was give his vision, one of the chief tasks the machine undertook.

Eventually the light stopped and Grimwarden opened his eyes. There was a smile on his face.

'It was good death,' he said.

'Indeed, Grimwarden. Indeed. I am sure you have your answer, then. A gold piece, then. Or at least 5 silvers I say.'

Grimwarden handed over a solitary silver piece.

''Bah,' said Gladfladulentia. 'Hardly worth my time.'

'I'll pay another silver piece next month or so, for the vision was well worth. Tis all I have for now, but ye'll get your pay,' said Grimwarden.

'And the vision?' asked Gladfladulentia?

'I expired in the arms of a whore,' said Grimwarden.

'Then your life has clearly been one well worth living,' said Gladfladulentia slyly, and the two of them grinned and then chuckled.

When Grimwarden left, the scientist Gladfladulentia, in the laboratories of lower Excragag, looked at the machine which had sat in its place ever since he was a young labrat, in the services of Master Faddingforth, from whom he'd developed his polished accent. But the mysteries of the machine? Well, God only knows. Still, it had earned him another silver piece, his usual reward, and he would enjoy some fine ale and fine food and even, perchance, the fine whore which Grimwarden had mentioned. And a whore to tickle the fancy of Gladfladulentia Diffruk was something not to be sneezed at. Not to be sneezed at indeed.

The End

Prince Ambriel, Arch-Regent of Tuggerandoria

'Now, Ambriel,' continued the mentor of the young prince of 15 years, prince Ambriel of Tuggerandoria. 'What are the 3 Divine Counsels of Armorica?'

'The first counsel in order of Authority is the Holy Counsel of Priests and Prophets,' said Ambriel. 'The Creator is the first Principle of Life in the Codex of Mittlemarch, and the Priests and the Prophets speak the Word of God. The second Counsel of Authority is the Royal Counsel of King's. 70 Kingdoms rule Armorica, and the 70 Kings and their Royal Family represent royal authority in the land. The third and final Counsel of Authority is the Counsel of Politicians and Merchantmen, who rule through Government and the 15 guilds. These three Counsels represent the rule of Holy, Royal and Political and Economic Authority in the Land of Armorica, the chosen Land of God.'

'Very good,' said the teacher Eglar. 'At 15 years of age that much is required for the beginnings of knowledge, but now that your schooling has officially begun, with your childhood years of adventure having been lived, you are required to build on every lesson with greater detail. Knowledge is like that, and understanding of society. It grows and deepens in levels of knowledge, and those who sit on the Counsels must have great knowledge and wisdom to rule our world. Do you understand this Prince Ambriel?'

'I do,' responded the young Prince.

'Very good. That is all for today, just this basic lesson, and you may have more adventure time for your friends and pastimes. You are excused.'

Prince Ambriel left the room, after bowing to his teacher, and wandered off to the lower courts, found a young cook he knew well, and had him excused so they could go off and play ball.

Later that evening, sitting in the feasting court, his father at the head table with the Queen his mother, Ambriel thought on his lesson. His father sat on the Royal Counsel, and when he turned 21 he likewise would gain entitlements. He was young, and it was still a life of wonder and play, the things which filled his 'Adventure Time', but he started thinking, sitting there eating his meal, that life, as an adult, would also have something exciting in it. A royal counsel, rulership, the stuff of grown ups. Time would tell, naturally, what epic happenings claimed his own life, but it was exciting, thinking on it, just what the future could hold for him. But a ball suddenly landed in his soup, and the cook grinned, and, looking at his father who nodded, Ambriel was away, with the young apprentice cook, playing ball, and then finding some of the other youths and maidens of the court, and he was lost in his own world of adventure time, the thoughts of counsels and kings put to the back of his mind, enjoying the final vestiges of his youth, a youth soon to grow to manhood, as another of the Prince Elect would find themselves in the grown-up world of Armorica, a world of grandeur and chivalry, were Adventure time would slowly be forgotten, replaced by the intrigues of a court life that would soon claim the soul and time of one more of God's blessed children.

The End

The Bowels of Excragag

Excracrag was a fortress upon a mount, well defensible, but nobody attacked her anyway. And twas full of vile citizens of fowl mannerisms and ill name. But it was only the publically visible Excracrag which people, for the most part, new. For the Mage of Excracrag was a pawn of the dark 'Overlord's' who lived down, far beneath Excragag's surface world, in the bowels of the earth beneath. Catacombs, filled with strange machinery of ancient order filled the world beneath Excracrag but, if you went further down, aided by torches and the senses of fearlessness you would need, you came down to the world of dark magic beneath, verily a nether of the world, were dark creatures lived, hating the light, and the Mage, on occasions, trod down to, to fulfil his obligations for escape from the world and the pleasures of sin his location offered. The Nether assured that – at a price. The required flesh, sometimes even damned and dead manflesh, to feast upon, but wild creatures usually sufficed. And they required blood. Lots of blood, for some of their kind were vampiric, and needed the liquid to sustain their lives.

Kardos was a dark Vampiric lord who dwelt in the heart of the bowels of Excragag, and his human maiden Belladear dwelt with him, and they were often the greeting the Mage of Excragag had, and he would deliver his servants piles of flesh at their feet, and the barrels of blood, and smooth Kardos would nod at him, and the arrangement would endure.

The Mage had never gone too far down into this netherworld, nor ever would for, despite his powers, dark magic was more powerful, and it was deadly further below, were fowl demons were rumoured to rule the lowest levels, with fowl appetites and no salvation. He feared such things, ultimately, despite his own fowl ways and own vile practices.

The bowels of Excragag were not a place to venture, even for the bravest of souls, but it was a hidden world, and only the crooked and corrupt knew of its existence, and only the crooked and corrupt would dare its dark passages.

The End


End file.
